


Sweat and Steel and Engine Grease

by sister_coyote



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Plot What Plot, Slice of Life, Vehicular Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-14
Updated: 2007-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 18:04:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_coyote/pseuds/sister_coyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Too much of a distraction?  We can't have you flying into a building."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweat and Steel and Engine Grease

Balthier was unwilling to admit the truth out loud, which was this: he could fly a hover perfectly well on his own—not with Fran's panache, but certainly without crashing it into any buildings—but he preferred the chance to hold on to her hips, feel her hair blowing past his face, and watch her fly: relaxed, alert, confident. So he begged off, even when she arched her eyebrows and pointed out that the hover would heed him as easily as it would her; he claimed unfamiliarity with that particular model.

It was not a particularly believable lie, but she smiled and let it pass.

The curve between her neck and her shoulder tasted of sweat and steel and engine grease.

"To the vault?" she said, above the wind.

"Indeed. Not too fast—we'd best not attract attention."

"Mmm." Fran throttled back, but just a little—fast enough to snatch the breath from his lungs and leave him laughing. His hands tightened on the soft curve where her hipbones gave way to the slim line of her waist.

After a moment, during which he considered his luck, he slid one hand up and forward, flat over her stomach. He thought he could hear her draw a sharp breath, but that might well have been imagination—or wishful thinking. Her skin was soft, her muscles taut, and he stroked her until he could feel (though not hear) her low purr.

Ah, there. He nudged her hair out of the way and licked her throat. When he felt her moan or sigh vibrate against his lips, he let his hand wander upward.

Fran laughed, a low sound that purred against his fingertips as his hand traced a path between her breasts. "You are a distraction."

He bit at the base of her throat. "Too much of a distraction?" One hand found and cupped her breast, the other dropping still lower. "We can't have you flying into a building."

Her scornful look required no explanation.

His teeth scraped over the bone-curve of her shoulder, the muscles of her bicep. He felt the hover shudder, just a little, when he navigated the metal of her armor to stroke her nipple. She rocked her head back against his shoulder, her eyes slitted but not—he checked—actually closed. Good. He nuzzled the curve of her ear, his hand slipping lower.

She spun the hover so fast that he thought for one terrifying second that he had distracted her fatally. Then, to his relief and disappointment, he felt the hover shudder as she cut the engine. They had come to a stop in an alley.

"We have arrived," she said, gently disengaging his hands.

"Pity."

She smiled, the soft full curve of her lips; kissed his mouth, lush and wet, and said, "We shall finish this later."

He pressed a hand to his heart. "I live for that moment."


End file.
